


Closer

by samanthavee



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-01
Updated: 2013-05-01
Packaged: 2017-12-10 01:58:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/780462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samanthavee/pseuds/samanthavee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU, post 3x07 or 3x08, which ever you prefer. Mickey has been taken in by a family, and now Ian’s here to make everything right in the universe. This is about as domestic!Mickey as you will ever see from me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Closer

Mickey didn’t sleep much these days. The….what the fuck was their last name….family that took him in, let him live in their basement, had every channel on the fucking planet, and had given him his own tv. He spent a lot of the time drinking and watching shitty made for television movies. It was normal.

He had no fucking idea why they’d done it. Never really felt like asking, either. They were nice. The guy owned the gym Mickey trained at, he was pretty cool. He treated Mickey like a person….most people; adults, rich people, people with kids, treated him like a disease. This family was nice. The wife…Kayla was her name, made him dinner. She didn’t take shit from him,either. She asked him if he could pick up their daughter from school. Who trusted a Milkovich with their kid? They didn’t make him pay rent or anything, but they did make him go to school…..or he had to get a job, a real one. One of these night he expected to get drugged and wake up in a fucking lab or some shit with his kidneys missing. No one was this nice to a Milkovich unless they wanted something.

 **“Hey.** ” Mickey jumped, turning from his spot on his loveseat to look where the noise was coming from, his bedroom door. Ian had a habit of sleeping over, somewhat uninvited. He was naked, leaning against the door frame, rubbing his eyes. He looked like a little kid. His legs went on for miles.

**“Do you ever sleep, or are you just avoiding me?”** He asked, crossing to sit next to Mickey on the couch. He picked up the lighter and the pack of cigarettes on the cushion in between them, and lit up. 

**“Fuck you, I’m just not tired.”** Mickey said quietly, taking a swig of his beer. He was almost out, he’d have to make a trip upstairs soon. 

**“Right.”** Ian said, sounding not at all convinced. They hadn’t talked much before, but they rarely talked at all now. Every topic seemed to be off limits. Anything that required Mickey to look at him was. 

**“Are you ever going to fucking leave?”** Mickey asked. He had a serious case of word vomit pretty much 24/7. He didn’t mean to be such an asshole all of the time, but he didn’t know how to be anything else, not without taking shit for it. The last time he’d opened up, he’d had the shit beat out of him. He was in this house now, hadn’t been back to the Southside in almost two months, but old habits were a bitch to kill. 

Ian seemed to be pretty much unphased. He was used to being treated like crap, but for some reason he still stuck around. Maybe he liked it, who knew. He shrugged, turning to face Mickey casually. **”Do you want me to leave?”**

It was a simple question, but one Mickey couldn’t really answer.He hated Ian. He never wanted to look at him ever again. He’d trusted him, and the kid fucking threw it back in his face. Could Mickey really blame him? No, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to. But at the same time, Ian was the only person he ever felt comfortable around. 

Without a word he got up, his intention to go upstairs into the kitchen and get more booze. On top of feeding him and letting him live in their basement for free, these people didn’t really have a problem with him drinking, as long as he supplied it. He made sure not to make too much noise; he felt like he was being watched all the time, or they were waiting in a dark corner somewhere for him to fuck up, so they could jump out and attack him. He carried the rest of the case down with him, bottles clinking softly as he walked down the stairs. Ian was still on the couch, channel surfing. Mickey might have protested, but he hadn’t really been too invested in what he had on. It was just something to watch. 

**“Christ, they have every channel, don’t they?”** Ian mused. He was trying to get Mickey to talk. He did that a lot. Micey suspected he just couldn’t help himself…he knew something was wrong, but if he got Mickey to talk that meant things would be okay. What things he thought would be okay, Mickey didn’t know. He finally settled on a channel with something on that looked mildly interesting; zombies. They didn’t say anything for awhile, Ian lit up another cigarette, but didn’t offer to share, and Mickey cracked open another bottle of beer. It was almost a comfortable silence. Both of them wanted to say something, but neither of them could figure out what exactly to say, or how to go about saying it. Finally, Ian sighed, getting up. 

**“I’ve got like three hours left to sleep before I have to get going so I can be home in time for breakfast. Are you gonna come to bed or what?”**

Mickey clenched his jaw together, grinding his teeth in thought. Mock thought. There was only one answer to that question, and Ian knew what it was. He asked it anyway, because it reminded Mickey no matter how he acted, Ian knew the truth. Knew more about Mickey than anyone else on the planet, probably. Mickey chugged the rest of his beer, and turned off the tv, tossing the remote onto the couch. He could have sworn he saw Ian roll his eyes as he walked back into the bedroom, but he wasn’t sure. 

They didn’t talk anymore, but the sex hadn’t changed. That was a lie, because it most certainly had. Neither of them could put a finger on exactly what but it was different. At first, Mickey didn’t even want Ian touching him….that had caused quite the fist fight, and Ian had left pissed off. Then came the kiss. It wasn’t like the first time. This was rougher, harder. Mickey was still mad at Ian, and Ian was just as mad at Mickey. Mickey’d never been so turned on in his life. The next time they’d had sex, it was not what Mickey had expected. Things went from rough and raging to…soft. Awkward. Unsure. It marked the first time they’d ever fucked someplace semi-normal, and it was also the first time Ian had been the one to leave in a hurry. What had happened to them? 

But Mickey liked it rough. He liked not thinking, feeling nothing except his toes going numb and his fingers tingling, his heart pounding in his head, the way Ian fit inside of him. Soon Ian had picked up on it. 

Nothing was said between them. They both knew the deal. Mickey crawled onto the bed, already burying his face in a pillow, ass in the air. He didn’t even want to look, but he could picture it in his mind. He hard the crinkle of the condom wrapper tearing open, and fluttering to the floor empty. He could just make out Ian’s silhouette in the dark, lean and tall, with one knee on the bed for support as he rolled the condom on. Mickey inhaled sharply, letting out a groan that was muffled by the pillow. There was a certain soreness as Ian pushed inside of him that he loved. They had lube, currently it was lost somewhere in the blankets on the bed, but that came later. Right now he was happy hurting. 

The rhythm was slow; every stroke seemed to last for an eternity. Mickey sighed, relaxed into it, stretching his arms out in front of him until his hands touched the wall. It was perfect. It seemed to stop very suddenly, which pulled Mickey begrudgingly out of his trance; he almost made a noise of protest. He knew what was coming next, and that almost made it worth it. 

The next thing he felt took the breath from his lungs. It was hard, and fast. He barely had time to make sense of anything before it was happening again. Mickey was getting louder now, he couldn’t help it. He got up on his elbows, muttering ‘fuck, fuck, fuck’ over and over again each time Ian’s hips thrust into him. In response he could have sworn he heard the other boy chuckle, followed by a light slap on the ass. But he never stopped. Mickey couldn’t take it, his dick was throbbing, the way it rubbed against the inside of his thigh in time with Ian’s hips was not helping. He tried to balance on one arm, reaching to jerk himself off with the other hand. Ian stopped him, grabbing his hand and wrapping it behind his back and holding it there. Cop style. Mickey groaned in frustration, sinking once again into his pillow to hide his face. And muffle his groans. He was sure now he heard Ian laugh. 

Mickey was breathing in ragged patterns, his heartbeat fluttering as he got closer and closer to orgasm. If his eyes would have been open he would have been seeing stars. Ian too was getting close, he changed postion, practically laid himself on top of Mickey, resting his forehead on his shoulder. His strokes went from relentless pounding to desperate grinding, his hands searching the mattress for Mickeys. Mickey couldn’t say what was pushing him over the edge; the sound of Ians breathing in his ear, or the sweet thrill he got every time Ian thrust up and hit his spot. 

**“Fuck!”** Mickey gasped, his whole body shivering as he came. It hurt that he couldn’t touch himself; his hands were pinned under Ian’s, but god it felt good. He sighed, gasping for breath and relaxing into Ian once again, who was still grinding frantically. Finally, Mickey felt it, felt his dick spasm followed by a shuddering sigh. Ian’s breath was hot on Mickey’s shoulder, and for a minute everything was just as it should be. They didn’t say anything, but it was an absolutely comfortable silence. 

Then Ian moved. He withdrew his hands from Mickeys, pulling out and getting up to go the the bathroom. Mickey rolled over and stared at the dark ceiling, feeling empty. He let his eyes close, listening to the sounds of his own breathing and the blood rushing in his ears. Slowly it returned to normal. 

Ian returned, rubbing his eyes again as he crawled into bed next to Mickey. They didn’t touch; the mattress was big enough for that. Wordlessly, Mickey rolled over to face the wall, taking a good portion of the blanket with him. Ian didn’t care, or didn’t protest if he did. Mickey thought he felt Ian scoot closer, but he didn’t want to turn and look. Instead he just closed his eyes, and willed himself to sleep long enough to miss Ian leaving in a few hours. 


End file.
